


Gone

by druscilla



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Drama, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4515792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druscilla/pseuds/druscilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete doesn't have an answer for that.  He's sick, he's crazy.  He's been skipping meds.  He felt fire in his veins pulling him out on an adventure.  He needed to feel alive so he didn't feel dead.  He needed to ignore any voice of reason because he knew how dangerously close to the edge he was dancing.  He needed to be selfish, because he wanted to be.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry," Pete says because he isn't sure if he is and he knows he's supposed to be.  He can be selfish sometimes.  He's sick all the time.  He can be happy sometimes, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone

Pete's gone. Patrick wakes up to an empty house. Pete's car is missing, but his phone is on the table. His suitcase is in the closet but the safe is open and his passport is gone. 

Patrick almost gets in two accidents driving to LAX. He spends four hours wandering the international terminal until he gives up and goes home. He spends the next three days biting his nails and staring at the front door even though Pete will come in through the garage. He sleeps on the couch.

He wakes up on the third morning to a sad boy watching him sleep. Pete's sitting on the floor next to the couch and has been since he got back over an hour ago. He parked outside so the garage wouldn't wake Patrick. "Hi," he whispers.

Patrick's up in a second and pushing Pete down on the floor. He hits him twice in the chest and then collapses against him in sobs, still weakly attempting to hit him. Pete wraps his arms around Patrick tightly and he cries, too. They lay there like that, no sound except the two of them, and when the sobs have abated, they lay there in silence. Both are waiting for the other person to talk; both are avoiding the responsibility of setting the tone.

"Where did you go?" Patrick asks finally, voice soft. He's got his head on Pete's shoulder, eyes lowered to look at the hand on Pete's chest. The older boy is still holding him.

Pete sighs. Patrick can feel the weight of it, the weight it takes off Pete's body when it's released. It hangs in the air for a moment, crushing them. "New York." The weight is gone.

"But you took your passport."

Pete hesitates. "I did that on purpose. I knew you'd go to the international terminal." He sounds guilty, but he doesn't apologize. He's manipulative. He knows that. He knew Patrick would look for him. He would have shut the safe if he hadn't wanted him to know. He hadn't even flown out of LAX.

"Why?"

Pete doesn't have an answer for that. He's sick, he's crazy. He's been skipping meds. He felt fire in his veins pulling him out on an adventure. He needed to feel alive so he didn't feel dead. He needed to ignore any voice of reason because he knew how dangerously close to the edge he was dancing. He needed to be selfish, because he wanted to be.

"I'm sorry," Pete says because he isn't sure if he is and he knows he's supposed to be. He can be selfish sometimes. He's sick all the time. He can be happy sometimes, too.

Patrick is exhausted even though he just woke up. He wants to fight. He wants to scream. He wants to have it out. But it wouldn't matter. He's had this conversation before, heard this apology in lieu of an explanation before. Pete is his personal heart attack. It's not going to change. "You scared me," he murmurs, a soft accusation.

"I know. I'm sorry." And that time he actually sounds sorry because Pete doesn't like to scare Patrick, even though that's essentially the base of the entire relationship. _('You get stage fright? Try singing.' 'You don't like PDAs? I'll show you a PDA.' 'You love me? Let me put myself in a million scenarios that could end badly.')_ "I would have taken my phone but you turned that GPS thing on."

"So don't run away," Patrick tells him.

Pete shakes his head and doesn't say anything in response. He can't promise that and Patrick knows it and Pete knows that Patrick knows. The older boy kisses the top of the singer's head. "I love you, 'Trick."

"Love you, too," comes the distant echo.

\---

Patrick's gone. Pete wakes up to find an envelope with his name on it sitting against the lamp on the nightstand. He rips it open and then he cries. He tears it in half and pushes the two halves together to reread it. Then he scrambles into the first clothes he finds and runs to find his car keys and wallet, shoving the pieces of the letter in his front pocket as he goes.

He has to wait a few hours at the airport and he gets a rental car when he lands. His mind is buzzing. He can feel the soft thrum of it under his skin. He still isn't sure which emotion to feel. He'll find Patrick and then he'll know whether to cry or scream or beg. He drives to Patrick's apartment with no radio. His fingers tap out a pointless rhythm on the steering wheel.

There's no one there when Pete lets himself in with his emergency key that never gets used for emergencies. It doesn't look like anyone's been there. Patrick usually leaves a light on. 

Pete sits down on the couch to reread the crumpled letter. Patrick wouldn't lie to him, but he would twist words so he wasn't technically lying.

_'I need to go home.'_

Pete shakes his head. What double meaning could there be in _that_? He traces his finger across the words. There's a scribble before the word 'home'. Home.

_Home._ Pete's eyes light up as he grabs the letter and his keys, slamming the door a little too hard behind him as he heads for the stairs. 

It's dark when Pete gets there. He's spent most of the day in airports and wasted another few hours driving to the apartment. Now he's trying not to bump into people as he hurries down the sidewalk. He thinks he knows exactly where he's going but that doesn't mean it's where Patrick will be.

He's not praying, but he's wishing and hoping and when he gets there and sees him, he stops short out of shock. A man bumps into him and Pete mumbles a half-hearted apology as he hurries to take the stairs down to where he saw Patrick on the sidewalk near the docks. He doesn't know what he's going to say but he doesn't care.

"'Trick?" he asks when they're about ten feet apart. Blue eyes he knows too well turn to look at him and Pete closes the rest of the distance between them. "'Trick," he repeats because he isn't sure what else to say.

"I didn't know if you'd find me." Patrick isn't sure what to do either, so he turns and keeps walking. 

Pete matches pace beside him. "I went to your place first," he admits.

"I figured you would." Patrick stops suddenly and turns, crossing his arms over his chest and looking out over the water. There are less people here by the docks than there are on the main section of the pier. "I'm getting really tired, Pete," he whispers.

The older boy knows Patrick doesn't mean that he wants to go to bed. His fingers slide into his pocket to touch the note that's still there. "I know you are," he mumbles back. He doesn't want to have this conversation at all, but especially not here in this safe place with no where to run and hide. "I know I have to get better," he says, his voice a little more sure.

"Do you know what that means?" There's no accusation in Patrick's voice but there's still an unspoken reminder of all the times Pete has made the same promise. 

Pete sighs and takes a few steps forward, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets and wishing he could just disappear and float up into the sky. But he's standing on the ground and Patrick's standing on it too and there's really no question as to whether he wants to fly or whether he wants Patrick.

"I have to take my meds everyday. I have to go back to therapy." He takes a ragged breath. "I have to stop running away." His eyes fill with tears as he says it, but they don't spill over, just remain, skewing his view and making the lights on the river turn into blurred orbs. When he blinks, the moisture clings to his eyelashes and he brings up a hand to hastily wipe it away.

Patrick takes a step forward and puts his hand on Pete's shoulder, squeezing once. "And you have to talk to me, Pete. It shouldn't get to the point of you running away if you talk to me."

"You worry too much!" It bursts out of Pete before he can stop it and he winces because he has a good idea of what's coming.

When Patrick speaks again, every word is clipped and controlled. "I worry too much to not let you, you mean."

Pete squirms uncomfortably. "Do we have to talk about this here?"

"Yes," Patrick answers him simply. "Because you wouldn't talk about it with me before in the eighteen other places we could have had this conversation."

That's fair, but it's mean and Pete doesn't like it. He looks up at the sky again, thinks about flying for a moment. Patrick is pushing him and he doesn't like being pushed, but he loves Patrick. His stomach is twisting like a freshly snapped guitar string. "I don't want to never do anything spontaneous because I'm sick."

Patrick's hand slips down to squeeze Pete's for a moment before return to his shoulder. "I don't want that either," he says in a low, even voice. "I love that you're spontaneous. But can't you be safe, too?"

The 's' word. Pete hates it. It started with his parents and then the guidance counselor and each new therapist and finally, Patrick. Pete supposes if he loved himself the way Patrick does that he would care more about keeping himself safe. God knows he'd freak if Patrick pulled half the shit he did.

Which is why he's standing at Navy Pier having one of those conversations that changes your life forever.

\---

_"They say 'home away from home' probably because your parents sell your house and the city tears down your school." Pete's standing on the bottom rung of the railing and making a face at the cigarette smoke wafting their direction from a girl about fifteen feet away._

_"They're tearing down the park, too," Patrick tells him. He doesn't have to tell Pete which one. There's only one park where they used to drink at when it was four a.m. and they didn't want the party to end. There's only one park where they would hide themselves in the slide and make out from view of nocturnal neighbors. There's only one park where 'P loves P' is written on three of the metal legs of the swing set in permanent marker._

_"Fuck." A woman with a small child walking by gives Pete a look of indignation and he crosses his eyes at her. Can't she see the situation warrants appropriate language? "We might as well make this home away from home since it's the only thing they won't tear down," he says cynically._

_"We can write our initials somewhere the next time we come, " Patrick suggests in agreement. Pete manages a smile._

\---

"I can be safe." Pete takes one last look at the water reflecting the black sky above and turns away, blinking rapidly. "I can be safe," he repeats, gulping for air. "I can be healthy. I can. I can be whatever you want, Patrick, I can. But can we go back now?" He's teetering on tears and he really doesn't want that here.

Patrick nods, not wanting that either. "Yeah. Let's go back to the apartment." The younger boy drives and pretends not to notice Pete silently crying while he's curled up against the window. By the time they get back, Patrick doesn't want to talk either. 

"We'll finish this in the morning." He tries to make his voice sound as nonthreatening as possible while he unlocks the door. "Do you want to go to bed?"

"I want to do whatever you want to do," Pete says in the small, young voice that he uses when he's tired and madly in love with Patrick. He kisses the other boy's cheek once they're inside. "I missed you.""

"We weren't even apart for a day, Pete," Patrick tells him sternly. He can't play the _Cute Pete Tries to Make it Better with Sex Game_ or they won't ever pick the conversation back up. He knows how it works. "I'm tired. Let's go to bed." He's not tired at all, but he can get back up once Pete falls asleep.

\---

Pete's gone when Patrick wakes up, but there's a text on his phone that says something about grabbing breakfast. Patrick's stomach growls as if on cue and he goes to shower and prepare himself for the day ahead. He had ended up falling asleep with Pete the night before and hasn't had a chance to plan a strategy. He really hopes the other boy brings coffee because his brain is like mud.

Patrick's gone when Pete gets back, but he comes in the front door a few minutes after. He has a stack of mail in his hands that he dumps unceremoniously on the counter. "Coffee?" he asks hopefully.

Pete presses a warm cup into his hand. "I got breakfast burritos from one of the food trucks. I'm going to shower while you eat."

Patrick knows that's a sign that Pete is trying to avoid the conversation, but he doesn't argue because he still needs to come up with a plan of attack. He's eating and thinking when Pete emerges about fifteen minutes later in his same jeans, but one of Patrick's shirts. 

"I made an appointment for when we get back," Pete says, grabbing his own coffee and sitting in the chair diagonal from Patrick. "I left my meds at home though. I didn't grab anything when I left. Do I need to have my doctor call in a refill or are we going home?" Pete waits expectantly for an answer.

Patrick is dumbfounded. He pushes his food to the side and gives Pete a look like he isn't sure if he's real before taking another swallow of his coffee. "So you've gotten breakfast, showered, made an appointment, and made a back up plan for meds?" He doesn't want to sound skeptical, but he knows he does.

"I told you I would do whatever you wanted," Pete says quietly, lowering his eyes and playing with the lid on his cup. "Can we go home now?"

Patrick watches Pete fidgeting. He wants to talk. He wants to argue. He wants every detail spoken and agreed to. He wants to have words to pull out later and use if something goes wrong.

But that isn't going to happen, he realizes as Pete looks up and heir eyes catch. Patrick smiles at him. Even if they agree on every detail, none of the details are going to stay the same. And Pete is going to fuck up. And Patrick is going to have to pry. Patrick doesn't want to have to break up if Pete breaks one of his promises. Patrick doesn't want to pretend that Pete isn't going to do crazy things because he's crazy. 

But that's still better than what it has been. Patrick is sick of watching Pete struggle with what usually comes so easily to him. Words should not be Pete's punishment.

"Let's go home," Patrick agrees. 

Now Pete smiles.


End file.
